The Hardest Thing

has a shower,” I said, but in truth the thought of Stirling McMahon splashing around in a pair of Speedos was kind of interesting, however much of a brat he was, however much he filed his nails and primped his hair.
    Another truck swerved in front of me, horn blaring,
and I had to jab the brakes to avoid a collision. Shit! My concentration was going to pieces. Stop thinking about ass, Stagg. Focus on the job. Deliver the result. Get laid when this is over—and if you need to, jerk off in the shower.
    Stirling laughed, lay back and closed his eyes. For the next hour we drove in silence. I don’t know whether he slept, but at least he was quiet.
    Hunger made me stop. We were getting into the Catskills, giving Albany a wide berth, and I knew that if we didn’t get something to eat soon we’d run out of options. Fresh air and pretty scenery are fine and dandy, but they don’t fill your stomach.
    We passed through a small tourist town, one of those places with a row of motels and tacky souvenir shops. There was a supermarket on one side of the street, a coffee shop on the other—that would do. I parked, wound up the windows and left my passenger snoozing in the back. If he tried to make a run for it, he wouldn’t get far—but I took the precaution of locking the doors.
    I got bread, ham, tomatoes, cheese and apples in the supermarket, and two coffees from the coffee shop.
    “I need the bathroom,” Stirling said when I got back in the car. “Let me go into one of those motels or something.”
    “No can do. We’re going to have a picnic. You can go pee-pee in the woods.”
    “I need to do number two.”
    “Then we’ll dig a little hole.” I pulled away from the curb. “Just watch out for poison ivy on your ass.”
    I found a quiet spot in the woods with a picnic table
and a view, just the sort of place that a honeymooning couple might stop. And that’s probably what we looked like—New York newlyweds screwing each other’s brains out in cutesy motels before heading back to their designer condo in Chelsea. Well, if that’s what people wanted to think, fine. As long as we didn’t look like a professional bodyguard and a rich kid with a price on his head, it was all good.
    We ate in silence. When Stirling wasn’t making an effort to be obnoxious, we got along just fine. Stuffing his mouth with bread and ham, swigging his coffee, chewing and swallowing, he seemed like a regular guy. A decent haircut and a good scrub to get the crap off his face and he’d be…
    “I want to swim.”
    There was a fair-sized pond beyond the trees, surrounded by boulders that gave easy access to deep, clean water. The idea of a dip after hours on the road was attractive.
    “No.” I balled up the paper bags and swept the crumbs on to the pine needles; the ants could have ’em. “Time to get going.”
    “What’s the big hurry?” He’d already stripped off his shirt; his skin was golden and smooth. “We don’t have to be anywhere in particular, do we?”
    He was right, of course. “We need to keep moving.”
    He kicked off his sandals and unbuttoned his shorts. “I don’t see why. There’s nobody here to see us.” His shorts dropped to the pine needles, and he stepped out of them. All that was left was dazzling white briefs, skin tight.
    “Because I say so.”

    He shrugged, and started tugging at the waistband of his underpants.
    “Okay, that’s enough. If you want to swim, go ahead, but keep those on.”
    “Why?”
    “Because I don’t want us getting arrested. We’re supposed to be staying out of trouble.”
    “Whatever.” He let the elastic ping back against his hips and walked on the balls of his feet over to the rocks. He clambered over, there was a splash and he disappeared.
    Letting him out of my sight was not a good idea—and he was right, there was no particular timetable. The water sure looked inviting. It was a long time since I took my last shower at 109th Street—and even longer since I swam in open water.
    When? With Will, maybe?
    Did we ever go swimming together?
    Of course. A brief flash of moonlight on water, Will’s shoulders breaking the black surface of the sea, brown arms and legs moving in slow circles, our mouths joining, wet and salty…
    Forget that. I screwed up my eyes, shook my head to erase the memory.
    Well, what the hell. I have to keep an eye on him, and it won’t do me any harm to freshen up. I stripped down to my shorts and followed Stirling into the water.
    He